


Amor Fraternus

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7407784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Alex was the only person Randall loved, but he was also the only one who loved Randall. He alone made Randall feel that, despite the urges and the compulsions and everything he's done, he might not be entirely evil."</p><p>Warnings for some incestuous thoughts (not acted on), obsessive sibling love, canonical character death. TV spoilers for episode 2x12.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amor Fraternus

The only person Jonathan Randall ever loved is dead. 

He regrets beating Alex's corpse even while he's doing it, but there's no other option. Wild emotions rage inside him, and they have to erupt in some way. It's that or cry, and he is not going to break down sobbing in front of bloody Claire Fraser. 

As soon as he rounds the corner, Randall collapses against a wall, tears running down his cheeks. It's a common enough sight in Inverness, he supposes, a backwater hole full of drunken Scotsmen. Nobody comes near him. 

He loved Alex from the start, from the very first moment he was called into his mother's bedchamber to see the red-faced, mewling infant. Another brother and a sister were born between Randall and Alex, but neither lived more than a few days. This baby was stronger, even a five-year-old could see it. Randall touched Alex's downy soft skin, and Alex's little blue eyes peered back at him. _You're mine_ , Randall thought. _And I'll look after you._

Alex was strong, but their mother was not. Eighteen months later, she died delivering another unfortunate Randall son, who quickly followed her. With their mother gone, there was no one to curb their father's drunkenness. At night, Randall and Alex would cower in Randall's bed, clinging tightly to one another while their father tore about the house. If he ever came into the bedroom, Randall knew he would do anything to protect Alex from the brute. He didn't doubt he would be capable of it. There in his bed, with Alex's body pressed against his and Alex's sweet-smelling hair in his face, Randall felt something he didn't feel anywhere else. He felt powerful.

Thanks to his expensive drinking habit, their father couldn't afford to send them to boarding school. Both Randall and Alex attended as day pupils, which was supposed to be a source of embarrassment. Randall was certainly teased enough for it, although he ensured, by means of many beatings, that nobody dared do the same to Alex. He couldn't bring himself to feel overly humiliated by their circumstances, however, not when it meant that at night, he and Alex could be together in his bed, just like always.

As he grew older, Randall began to realize the depth of his feelings for Alex were a little outside the norm. When he came home on leave, they still slept in the same bed, Alex's arm around his waist and Alex's head on his shoulder. This led to dreams, on occasion, to heart-pounding, sweat-inducing visions of Alex happily sighing, “I love you, Johnny,” as Randall moved on top of him and within him. In reality, Randall would never do such a thing. Sex was a weapon to wield against the weak, and he wouldn't sully Alex with it. Sometimes, however, when he looked at Alex's innocent face and boyish smile, Randall was overcome with a desire to kiss him, like an evil character from some Greek myth, to place his mouth over Alex's and suck out some of Alex's pure goodness for himself. 

Randall never did that either. He was a gentleman, restricting his physical affection to light embraces and kisses on the cheek. On campaign, he wrote to Alex almost daily, and if his letters were a bit more florid and fervent than might usually pass between brothers, he could not bring himself to feel guilty about that. Alex's letters were just the same. 

When Alex wrote to tell Randall of his new job with the Duke of Sandringham, Randall's first thought was to forbid it. _My darling Alex_ , he wrote back, nearly tearing the page in desperation. _As I have said to you before, I am more than happy to support you. There is no need for you to lower yourself to a position of this nature._ The response came quickly. _Beloved Johnny, I deeply appreciate your generous offer, as you know, but I am no longer a child who requires protection from the world. I am a man, and I wish to make my way in it, as you have. I hope I can continue to count on your loving guidance, as I am certain to require it._

Of course he could count on it. Always. Randall replied, assuring Alex of such. He also wrote a lengthy letter to Sandringham, and at the first available opportunity, went to speak with the man himself. 

“If I hear that my brother has been harmed,” he announced, as soon as Sandringham sauntered into the room, “in any way whatsoever, you will answer for it. If I find that he has been debased, by you or by any of your disgusting cronies...” 

“My dear boy.” Sandringham interrupted, his face creasing into his sycophantic smile. “I can assure you, no such thing has or will occur. I wouldn't dream of meddling in what I'm sure is a...family affair.” He raised a supercilious eyebrow. 

Randall's blood boiled at the implication. His hand went to his sword but, before he could defend Alex's honour, Alex himself appeared. “Johnny!” His smile lit the room, as always, and as always, it sent Randall's heart soaring. 

“I'll leave you two alone,” Sandringham said, managing to make even that simple phrase sound depraved. It didn't matter. Alex threw himself into Randall's arms, and nobody else existed. 

When the letter came some months later to say that Sandringham had dismissed Alex and abandoned him in Paris, Randall was unsurprised. Sandringham raised fickleness to an art form. It was the second part of the letter that made Randall drop the page into the mud, then scramble to pick it up so he could re-read what he must certainly have seen wrongly. 

He hadn't. Alex had been temporarily imprisoned on an accusation of rape. A mistaken accusation, Alex hastened to add, unnecessarily. Of course it was wrong. The mere idea of it was ludicrous. The fact the French believed it, even for a short time, proved only that they were as stupid as Randall always thought them to be. Randall hastened across the channel to threaten Sandringham into taking Alex back, only to be first humiliated by the foppish and ridiculous king—in front of the infernal Mrs. Fraser, no less—then to be told by Sandringham he had no use for Alex. 

“I'm sorry, but he was accused of attacking a beloved member of my family.”

“It wasn't true. You must have known that.” Nobody who knew Alex in the least could possibly think him capable of such a crime, not even a half-wit like Sandringham. 

“It was a confusing time, very distressing for all of us. But innocent or not, I cannot force the poor girl to see him day after day.”

“But...”

Sandringham raised a hand. “Your desire to help your brother does you credit, sir. My decision is final.” His eyes narrowed. “And you would do well to remember your station, and mine, _Captain_ , before you speak again.” 

Randall wanted to break something, preferably Sandringham. But he was right. For the first time in his life, Randall wasn't powerful enough to get Alex what he wanted. 

It didn't matter. It was for the best, really. Now Alex could come home, and Randall could look after him. He was ill, no doubt due to the deplorable conditions in the Bastille. Randall would nurse him back to health. They could even share a bed again, something which Randall had sorely missed and to which he looked forward with great anticipation. 

Alex didn't agree. “You are so kind to me, Johnny,” he said, his eyes bleary and his clammy hands clutching Randall's. “But I must find another position as soon as I can.”

“Why? I'll look after you.” 

Alex paused to cough. It physically pained Randall to hear the roughness of it. “I must tell you something,” Alex said, when he caught his breath. “A secret.” He leaned close, almost whispering in Randall's ear even though they were seated in an otherwise empty boarding house sitting room, and it was unlikely anyone in the building spoke English, anyway. “There's a girl. She's wonderful, Johnny. I love her. And I think she feels the same.” He bit his lip shyly, as if this were some monumental admission. 

“That's fine.” It was. Alex was supremely lovable. He deserved a wife who appreciated him. “I'll support both of you. I don't mind.” 

Alex shook his head. “I can't expect her or her family to accept a man who doesn't make his own living. She deserves much more than that. Her friend convinced me of it.” 

“Her friend?” 

“Besides,” Alex went on, “you will find a wife of your own one day, and she certainly won't appreciate us leeching away your money like a couple of beggars.” 

“I love only you, Alex.” Randall wasn't ashamed to admit it. He never had been.

Alex shook his head. “That won't be true forever. You'll meet someone, and she'll be very lucky indeed.” 

Randall's throat was suddenly dry. “Alex, darling, I'm...I'm not...” _I'm different when I'm with you._ That, he couldn't say. He couldn't utter the words and bring himself down in Alex's eyes. The things he'd done were so far beyond what Alex could comprehend, they would frighten and shock him. They would certainly make him love Randall less.

“I love you,” Alex said, suddenly. He reached out, resting a hand on Randall's face. His eyes met Randall's. “Always. But you must let me do this for myself. Please.”

Randall nodded. Alex kissed him, softly on the cheek, then collapsed into another fit of coughing. 

The legal and physical aftermath of Randall's duel with Fraser kept him occupied for some time, and kept him away from tending to Alex. While Randall was caught up with these affairs, Alex found another position, in Scotland of all places. Randall tried hard to be happy for him, especially when he wrote, _I hope this will be the first step on a path which make me worthy of a very special lady, and which will lead to my very happy marriage_. Randall hoped that, too. 

He was back with his regiment, ready and eager to put down a rebellion, when he received the letter. It was in a foreign hand, small and cramped where Alex's handwriting was wide and looped. 

_Dear Captain Randall_ , it began. _My name is Mary Hawkins. I am writing to you on behalf of my fiancé, your brother, Alex Randall._ Randall's heart jumped into his throat. _I'm afraid he is very ill. He has not been able to work for some time now, and we are struggling with bills. He has asked me to tell you, 'I need your kind help now, dear brother, if you are still offering it.' You can find us in Inverness..._ Randall didn't read the rest of the letter. There was no time to lose. He demanded, rather than requested, leave from his commanding officer and was on his way to Inverness within the hour. 

Mary Hawkins was a sweet, naive girl, exactly the sort Randall would have pictured for Alex. They seemed well-matched. When Randall arrived at the boarding house in Inverness, running up the stairs, he found her at Alex's side, mopping his fevered brow with a fretful look on her face.

“Johnny!” Alex called out, weakly. Randall fell to his knees beside the bed. He took Alex's hand in his, pressing kisses to the back of it. “I knew you would come.” He was so pale, it broke Randall's heart to see it. “This is Mary,” he said. Randall nodded vaguely in her direction. “Mary, my love, would you fetch me some fresh water from the well?” 

“Of course, darling.” She took a chipped pitcher from the sideboard and left the room. As soon as she was gone, Alex turned a rueful expression to Randall. 

“I have a terrible confession to make, Johnny.” 

“You're ill, Alex, but you mustn't worry. I'm here now, I'll take care of everything. You're going to get better. I'll make sure of it.”

“Johnny.” Alex squeezed his hand. “Mary is expecting a child.” His eyes grew tearful. “I know you must be terribly disappointed in me...”

“What? No, it's fine. I could never be disappointed in you.” Certainly not for such a minor sin as that. “You know it's yours?” 

“Of course! We plan to be married. We would have done it already, but I can't seem to...” He broke off, coughing. Randall moved him off the damp pillows, holding him tightly as he gasped for air. 

“I'll get you a doctor,” Randall promised, when the coughing eased. He kept Alex in a tight embrace, pressing his lips to Alex's sweaty hair. He smelled rank and ill. “Does she need one, as well? I'll pay for both of you.” 

“I'll ask her.” Alex leaned back. “I can't thank you enough. I told Mary you would save us. You always save me.” 

“I'd do anything for you, Alex. You know that. You mean everything to me.” His voice cracked. Alex likely didn't notice. He was already coughing again, wheezing and choking with tears in his eyes. 

“Anything” meant committing treason. Randall didn't care. He would consign Cumberland and his men to death at the hands of the bastard Scots a thousand times over if it meant Alex would live. But he couldn't do what Alex asked of him. He couldn't marry Mary Hawkins.

Not because he had anything against the girl. He liked her, as much as he liked anyone. She was good to Alex, which was all that mattered. If Claire Fraser's prophecy was correct, they would only have a few days as a married couple, and Randall would rather his belongings went to her, and to Alex's child, after his death than to some cousin he barely knew. But all that was beside the point. He couldn't marry Mary, because marrying Mary would mean admitting Alex was going to die. 

It went against every last bit of Randall's heart and of his mind, but in the end, he couldn't deny Alex what he wanted. Randall never truly thought he could. Now, sitting in the mud against the wall of some seedy tavern, Randall knows he will never see his beloved brother again. Alex is in heaven with their mother and her babies. Randall, when his time comes, will be consigned to hell with their father. 

_When his time comes._ Within two short days, perhaps. _If Claire Fraser truly is a witch_ , Randall thinks, _it's already ordained._ He hopes she's right, even if that does mean giving her the satisfaction of knowing it. If she's wrong, he will have to take matters into his own hands. 

Randall forces himself to wipe his face and rise from the muck. He will return to the boarding house, he decides. He'll settle their debts and put Mary on a stagecoach to London, to his country house, to anywhere she wants to go as long as it's within civilized English territory. And then he'll go back to his regiment to die, hopefully with honour. There's no point in living. 

Alex was the only person Randall loved, but he was also the only one who loved Randall. He alone made Randall feel that, despite the urges and the compulsions and everything he's done, he might not be entirely evil. Life without that spark of hope is too bleak of an existence, even for Randall. 

_All that was good, all that was fair, all that was me is gone,_ Randall thinks. Poetry of some kind. He can't recall where he heard it. It doesn't matter. He puts it out of his mind and goes to bid goodbye to his grieving soon-to-be widow.


End file.
